Cold Copper Tears (12 page)

I nibbled at him this way and that while we ate a chicken and dumpling mess that wasn’t half bad. I couldn’t get anything else until I showed him my coin collection.

He barely glanced at them. “Sure. That’s the kind that Brother Jersey used to pay the rent. I noticed on account of most all of them was new. You don’t see a bunch of new all together at once.”

You don’t. It was a dumb move, calling attention that way. Except Jerce probably figured Smith and Smith would never get made.

“Thanks.” I paid up.

“Been a help?”

“Some.’’ I gave him a silver tenth mark for his trouble. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

He ordered wine before I got to the door.

I went out thinking I had to bone up on my geography. KroenStat and CyderBen are out west and west-northwest, good Karentine cities but a far piece overland. I’d never been out that way. I didn’t know much about the region.

I also thought about asking Jill Craight a few more questions. She was in the center of the action. She knew a lot more than she’d admitted.

Mumbles was on the job. I’d make it easy for him to stick if he wanted — if he wasn’t following my drunken buddy or wasn’t there by absurd coincidence. I didn’t care if I was followed.

24

I was followed.

The drizzle tapered off to nothing most of my walk. But as I neared the Royal Assay Office the sky opened up. I ducked inside grinning, leaving Mumbles to deal with it.

Considering the size of Karenta as a kingdom and considering TunFaire’s significance as largest city and chief commercial center, the Assay Office was a shabby little disappointment. It was about nine feet wide, with no windows. A service counter stood athwart it six feet inside. There was no one behind that. The walls were hidden behind glass plates fronting cases that contained samples of coins both current and obsolete. Two antique chairs and a lot of dust completed the decor.

No one came out though a bell had rung as I entered.

I studied the specimens.

After a while somebody decided I wouldn’t go away.

The guy who came out was a scarecrow, in his seventies or eighties, as tall as me but weighing half as much. He was thoroughly put out by my insistence on being served. He wheezed, “We close in half an hour.”

“I shouldn’t need ten minutes. I need information on an unfamiliar coinage.”

“What? What do you think this is?”

“The Royal Assay Office. The place you go when you wonder if somebody is slipping you bad money.” I figured I could develop a dislike for that old man fast. I restrained myself. You can’t get a lot of leverage on minions of the state. I showed him my card. “These look like temple coinage but I don’t recognize them. Nobody I know does, either. And I can’t find them in the samples here.”

He’d been primed to give me a hard time but the gold coin caught his eye. “Temple emission, eh? Gold?” He took the card, gave the coins a once-over. “Temple, all right. And I’ve never seen anything like them. And 1 been here sixty years.” He came around the counter and eyeballed the coins on one section of wall, shook his head, snorted, and muttered, “I know better than to think I’d forget.” He hobbled around the counter again to get a scale and some weights then took the gold coin off the card and weighed it. He grunted, took it off the scale, gouged it to make sure it was gold all the way through. Then he fiddled with a couple other tests I figured were meant to check the alloy.

I studied the specimens quietly, careful not to attract attention. Nowhere did I spy a design akin to the eight-legged fabulous beasties on those coins. Real creepies, they looked like.

“The coins appear to be genuine,” the old man said. He shook his head. “It’s been a while since I was stumped. Are there many circulating?”

“Those are all I’ve seen but I hear there’s a lot more.” I recalled my drunk’s remark about accents. “Could they be from out of town?”

He examined the gold piece’s edge. “This has a TunFaire reeding pattern.” He thought a moment. “But if they’re old, say from a treasure, that wouldn’t mean anything. Reeding patterns and city marks weren’t standardized until a hundred fifty years ago.”

Hell, practically the night before last. But I didn’t say that out loud. The old boy was caught up in the mystery. He’d already worked past his half hour. I decided not to break his concentration.

“There’ll be something in the records in back.”

I bet on his professional curiosity and followed him. He didn’t object though I’m sure I broke all kinds of rules by passing the counter.

He said, “You’d think the specimens out there would be enough to cover every inquiry, wouldn’t you? But at least once a week I get somebody who has coins that aren’t on display. Usually it’s just new coinage from out of town and I haven’t gotten my specimens mounted. For the rest we have records which cover every emission since the empire adopted the Karentine mark.”

Hostility certainly fades when you get somebody cranked up on their favorite thing.

“I’ve been at this so long that most of the time I can take one look and tell you what you need to know. Hell. It’s been five years since I had to look anything up.”

So, he was excited by the challenge. I’d brought novelty into his life.

The room we entered was twenty feet deep. Both side walls, to brisket level, boasted cabinets containing drawers three-quarters of an inch high. They contained older and less common specimens, I presumed. Above the cabinets, to the ten-foot ceiling, were bookshelves filled with the biggest books I’ve ever seen. Each was eighteen inches tall and six inches thick, bound in brown leather, with embossed gold lettering.

The back wall, except for a doorway into another room, was covered with shelves bearing the tools and chemicals an assayer needed. I hadn’t realized there was so much to the business.

A narrow table and reading stand occupied the middle of the room.

The old man said, “I suppose we should start with the simple and work toward the obscure.” He hauled out a book entitled Karentine Mark Standard Coinages: Common Reeding Patterns: TunFaire Types I, II, III.

I said, “I’m impressed. I didn’t realize there was so much to know.”

“The Karentine mark has a five-hundred-year history, as commercial league coinage, as city standard, then as the imperial standard, and now as the Royal. From the beginning it’s been permissible for anyone to mint his own coins because it began as a private standard meant to guarantee value.”

“Why not start with my coins?”

“Because they don’t tell us much.” He snagged a shiny new five-mark silver piece. “Just in. One of one thousand struck to commemorate Karentine victories during the summer campaign. The obverse. We have a bust of the King. We have a date below. We have an inscription across the top which gives us the King’s name and titles. At the toe of the bust we have a mark which tells us who designed and executed the engraving for the die, in this case Claddio Winsch. Here, behind the bust, we have a bunch of grapes, which is the TunFaire city mark.”

He placed my gold coin beside the five-mark piece. “Instead of a bust we have squiggles that might be a spider or octopus. We have a date, but this is temple coinage so we don’t know its referent. There are no designer’s or engraver’s marks. The city mark looks like a fish and probably isn’t a city mark at all but an identifier for the temple where the coin was struck. The top inscription isn’t Karentine, it’s Faharhan. It reads, ‘And He Shall Reign Triumphant.’ “” Who?”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t say. Temple coinage is meant for use by the faithful. They already know who.” He stood the coins on edge. “TunFaire Type Three reeding on the five-mark piece. Used by the Royal Mint since the turn of the century. Type One on the gold. All Type One means is that the reeding device was manufactured before marking standards were fixed. Minting equipment is expensive. The standardization law lets coiners use their equipment until it wears out. Some of the old stuff is still around.”

I was intrigued but also beginning to feel out of my depth. “Why city identification by marks and reeding both?”

“Because the same dies are used to strike copper, silver, and gold but copper coins and small fractional silver aren’t reeded. Only the more valuable coins get clipped, shaved, or filed.”

I got that part. The little lines on the edge of coins are added so alterations will be obvious. Without them the smart guys can take a little weight off every coin they touch, then sell the accumulated scrap.

The human capacity for mischief is boundless. I once knew a guy with a touch so fine he could drill into the edge of a gold coin, hollow out a quarter of it, fill the hollow with lead, then plug the drill hole undetectably.

They executed him for a rape he didn’t commit. I guess you’d call that karma.

The old man turned the coins face down and went on about the markings on their reverses. They told us nothing about the provenance of my coins either.

“Do you read?” he asked.

“Yes.” Most people don’t.

“Good. Those books over there all have to do with temple coinage. Use your own judgment. See if you can luck onto something. We’ll start from the ends and see what we can uncover.”

“All right.” I took down a book on Orthodox emissions just to see how it was organized.

The top of each page had an illustration of both sides of a coin from a rubbing of the original, lovingly and delicately inked. Below was everything anyone could possibly want to know about the coin: number of dies in the designs, the date each went into service, the date each was taken out and destroyed, dates of repairs and reengravings on each, quantities of each kind of coin struck. There was even a statement about whether or not there were known counterfeits.

I had a plethora of information available to me for which I could see little practical use. But the purpose of the Assay operation is partly symbolic. It is the visible avatar of Karenta’s commitment to sound, reliable money, a commitment which has persisted since before the establishment of a Karentine state. Our philosophical forebears were merchants. Our coinage is the most trusted in our end of the world, despite the absurdities of its production.

I spent an hour dipping into books and finding nothing useful. The old man, who knew what he was doing, moved from the general to the particular, one reference after another, narrowing the hunt by process of elimination. He came to the wall I was working, scanned titles, brought a ladder from a corner, went up, and brushed a century’s worth of dust off the spines of some books on the top shelf. He brought one down, placed it in his work table, flipped pages.

“And here we are.” He grinned, revealing bad teeth.

And there we were, yes. There were only two examples listed, one of which matched the coins I had except for the date. “Check the date,” I said.

It had to be important. Because according to the book these coins had last been struck a hundred seventy-seven years ago. And if you added one hundred seventy-six to the date pictured you got the date on the gold piece I’d brought in.

“Curious.” The old man compared coin to picture while I tried to read around his hands.

My type of coin had been minted in TunFaire for only a few years. The other, older type had been minted in Carathca... Ah! Carathca! The stuff of legend. Dark legend. Carathca, the last nonhuman city destroyed in these parts, and the only one to have been brought low since the Karentine kings had displaced the emperors.

Those old kings must have had good reason to reduce Carathca but I couldn’t recall what it was, only that it had been a bitter struggle.

Here was one more good reason to waken the Dead Man. He remembered those days. For the rest of us they’re an echo, the substance of stories poorly recalled and seldom understood.

The old man grunted, turned away from the table, pulled down another book. When he moved away I got my first clear look at the name of the outfit that had produced the coins. The Temple of Hammon.

Never heard of it.

The TunFaire branch was down as a charitable order. There was no other information except the location of the order’s temple. Nothing else was of interest to the Assay Office.

I hadn’t found the gold at the end of the rainbow but it had given me leads enough to keep me busy-particularly if I could smoke the Dead Man out.

I said, “I want to thank you for your trouble. How about I treat you to supper? You have time?”

Frowning, he looked up. “No. No. That’s not necessary. Just doing my job. Glad you came in. There aren’t many challenges anymore.”

“But?” His tone and stance told me he was going to hit me with something I wouldn’t like.

“There’s an edict on the books concerning this emission. Still in force. It was ordered pulled from circulation and melted down. Brian the Third. Not to mention that there’s no license been given to produce the ones you brought in.”

“Are you sneaking up on telling me I can’t keep my money?”

“It’s the law.” He wouldn’t meet my eye.

Right. “Me and the law will go round and round, then.” “I’ll provide you with a promissory note you can redeem —”

“How young do I look?”

“What?”

“I wondered if I look young enough to be dumb enough to accept a promissory note from a Crown agent.”

“Sir!”

“You pay out good money when somebody brings you scrap or bullion. You can come up with coins to replace those four.”

He scowled, caught on his own hook.

“Or I can take them and walk out and you won’t have anything left to show anybody.” I had a feeling they’d constitute a professional coup when he showed them to his superiors.

He weighed everything, grunted irritably, then stamped off through the rear door. He came back with one gold mark, two silver marks, and a copper, all new and of the Royal mintage. I told him, “Thank you.”

“Did you notice,” he asked as I turned to go, “that the worn specimen is an original?”

I paused. He was right. I hadn’t noticed. I grunted and headed out, wondering if that, too, had been part of the message I was supposed to get.